God Sends A Curst Cow Short Horns.

Sorrow Was All My Soul; I Scarce Believed, Till Grief Did Tell Me Roundly, That I Lived.

He That Is Surprized With The First Frost Feeles It All The Winter After.

Take Heed Of The Wrath Of A Mighty Man, And The Tumult Of The People.

The Fineness Which A Hymn Or Psalm Affords If When The Soul Unto The Lines Accords.

Great Paines Quickly Find Ease.